WILL NEVER
by Radically Distinguished
Summary: Stripped off their former identities and memories as a representative of a country, Lovina Vargas and Gilbert Beilschmidt live life plainly as two college students majoring in Painting. But what they never knew is that Fate fancies them, bringing them closer to their chaotic but beautiful past as she bumps them 'coincidentally' to someone who may as well bring them back home.
1. Prologue

"**WILL NEVER"**

_By Radically Distinguished_

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Prologue; _2010_

I was sitting on the middle of something soft, a cloth covering my legs and I was wearing of what feels to be a light nightgown. I can hear my breathing gradually getting stronger and difficult by the moment. I can't see anything even though my eyes were wide open. But there's white, and it was all over the place. And I smell something mechanical and antiseptic, and it was heavy.

Then there's this pain, throbbing its way from all over my edges into my body.

But I can't fight it, because I know it'll be senseless. It stings everywhere and it's cold.

_I feel cold, and there are voices, lots of them, in a rumble._

"Wha. . .ng. . .er. . ."

"She. . . tly. . . ine. . ."

"Th. . .why. . . ike. . . at. . ."

"We. . .overdos. . .sedat. . . because. . .not normal. Y . . . re. . . countr-"

"WE BLOODY. . .OW WHAT WE. . .ARE!"

"Engla. . .lm down!"

"Stop it! Pu. . .im dow. . .!"

"Stop that!"

Someone held my shoulders tightly, and I feel warm again. Like it was winter in that short moment that passed. "Rom. . .? Roman. . .!"

"Sir, yo. . .not do tha. . .patient!"

"ITALY ROMANO!"

I felt my eyes move and swayed by the voice that called me. I recognized it instantly. "Fa. . . Fran-France. . ." I tried to speak. "What's. . .wha. . .What's goin-" I felt my hands shaking as I tried to touch his wrists, his hands moving to my cheeks.

"Thank . . .odness! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

"Whe-where am I? Why is it-"

"YOU'RE GOING TO BE FINE, ROMANO! I PROMISE! WHE. . . SPAIN!?

"HE'S. . .THE. . .OOM. . .ITH . . . PRUSSI. . .!"

"TELL HIM ROMANO'S AWAKE!" He caressed my face like I was the most important thing in the world to him. But I wasn't. "You're gonna be fine, Romano. Spain's coming!"

"What's going on, France? Why won't you tell me?" I asked with a hoarse voice.

"Believe me, _môn cher_. I'm not the person who's supposed to tell you that." He got closer.

"ROMANO!"

Someone was running, and there was this loud slam of something hard on concrete. He was here.

"Spai… Spain. . ." France's let go of my face, moving a bit farther. I felt another being closing in on us.

"France-! France, what happened? Did something happen to her? Is she hurt?"

"She just woke up, Spain. She's been overdosed with sedation and anaesthesia like Prussia, and she can't see us." I felt another hand on me, its warmth filling me up instantly the moment his skin collided with mine, "But she's not blind. Just heavily dizzy."

"ARE VENEZIANO AND GERMANY HERE YET?"

"Spain, where are they?"

"They're nearly here. ENGLAND, PUT THAT MAN DOWN! AMERICA-"

"I GOT HIM! WE'RE GONNA WAIT FOR THE OTHERS TO ARRIVE!"

"I'll go check Prussia." France was not by my side anymore, and he was getting blurred from my hearing again.

"Take the humans with you." He was now holding my hand, like he was scared of something going away from him. Like he never wanted to let go.

"Sir, the operation must proceed as sche-"

"It'll only take a minute, _docteur_. Come."

"But, it will not be good for her health."

"Being away from him will not be good for her soul, trust me. Let us go." And the door closes.

I feel Spain's breathing on me, his forehead onto mine, the shaking of his being more prominent by the minute. But for a different purpose, a much more dreadful reason than mine. He's always this obvious type, the predictable guy.

"What's going o-on, Spain?" I feel weak, my whole body depending on his hold now. "What's wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, _mi amor_." He said huskily. "You're perfect. You always are." And he kissed me, his soft lips touching my head desperately longer than he normally does. "You'll always be."

"But I'm not fine, aren't I?" Placing a hand to the one he has on my face, I gripped it gently. He didn't answer. "Why do you know it better than I do, Spain? What secrets are you hiding from me?"

He was sobbing. And it made me tremble more, "You knew about this. You just forgot, Romano."

"Tel. . .Tell me now." I waited for him say something back. But his sobbing just got louder. "Spain, tell me."

"Germany. . . Germany and Italy. . . There'll be just one representative for them, Romano." He said. "You and Prussia. . . are going to get abolished today."

I felt something incredibly and inhumanly heavy in me, a pain that brought me face-to-face with death as it was addicting, and yet deadly. But it was frightfully familiar. I've felt it before.

And then I remembered. "We went through this already, Spain. If I di-"

"No, no, no, no don't say that. No, please no-"

"Shhh. It's alright, Spain? Spai-" I wanted to cry, but I'm not sure if I already was.

"You're not going to die, Romano. Roma-"

"Spain, w-we all know how this work. We're all going to face this oblivion. But. . . I-I. . . going to go f-first, alright."

"No! NO! Roma, no!"

"Spain, listen to me-"

"You promised me you're never going to leave me! I promised you-" He was starting to grip me hard, wrapping his arms slowly around me. But I can still sense his face unto mine.

"It's not going to be like that now, love-"

"I promised you I'll keep you safe. That you're going to be alright!" He hugged me. Tightly, like he didn't need to breathe just to hold me close. I wrapped my arms around him. "That you'll be with me for the rest of this world to know. . . Roma. . . Romano. . ."

"But we can't be like that forever, Spain. We can't . . . we can't."

"NO! No!"

"Shhh"

"I love you. I love you, Roma. I love you."

"I love you too, Spain."

"I love you. "

Everything went wrong after that.

* * *

**HIGH PROFILE/S; FBI 'CIVILIAN' MASTERLIST**

**Surname**: Vargas **Public Status**: College Student

**Name**: Lovina Renata **University/Employment**: Sapienza University

**Middle Name**: dela Cruz

**Age**: 19 years old

**Sexuality**: Female

**Address**: 27, Via Tronto, Rome, Lazia Italy

**Name of Father**: Arrigo Bartolommeo Vargas

**Occupation**: English Tutor/Artist (Painting)

**Name of Mother**: Eulalia Maria Vargas

**Occupation**: CEO, Artistic Euphoria, Inc.

**Siblings**: NONE

_Formerly known as Romano, Italia (Human Representative)._

FOLLOWING CONTENTS ARE HIGHLY CLASSIFIED.

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**Anime used, characters and locations used are from Google Maps. I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING.**

**Corrections and constructive criticisms are highly accepted. **

**Chapter one next!~**

**Radical**


	2. Chapter 1 Subtle

**A/N: Hallo! So, I haven't really told this to you guys at the prologue but, thank you so much for reading my fanfic! **

**But first, lemme take a sel- no, no,no. that's terrible. I must not do that again.**

**Let me just clarify things up.**

**So, I'm basing their current location on South Italy because that's where Rome is, and if you've read the chapter prior to this, it was stated there that their Univ. is located there. That University was not made up and I even searched google maps just to find a University just like that. But, because I'm not Italian and a student there, chances of school activities that will be held in this story will be very light and minimum so as to not offend anyone.**

**I'm not used to writing close-to-real-life fics and I'm pretty sure that I screwed this one up, so I'm sorry about that (again, to those who will be offended).**

**Happy reading!**

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Chapter 1; Subtle

The one thing you could distinguish from this University will probably be the probability of something that could happen anytime. An event that could be unexplainable, unpredictable, or just a thing too normal for delight. But if you actually take the time to ponder about what is left beyond the explained, you'll find this a rather common place - varying by the type of your sense of plebeian, that is.

Adjusting herself in the shallow cushions of the café's seat, Lovina Vargas, a senior Fine Arts student; a brunette with a thing for sundresses reaching just above her thighs and pairing it with pants or leggings or something skinny; a woman whose taste in music lies on the likes of Foster the People, an occasional Sigur Ros and other alternatives, cursed and beheaded a friend of hers in the corners of her wonderful mind. Straightening some formed creases on her Playbight, she managed to stay composed for the public to leave her alone and stay in the vicinities of their lives.

Hidden at what it seems like an infinite valley from the ground, Lamenta is a dainty sight. Its popularity never changing from the protégés venturing in and out of the said place, it has a feeling that you can never get rid of once you've experienced it. Coming in through the Oak front door, you will be met by stairs ascending to the main room, the Bistro. Fully air-conditioned, wide and soft, its walls are of wooden planks and the area is lit by a chandelier with a warm yellow luminescence. By the four corners of the room are red lava lamps, dairy white curtains covering glass-pinned windows and a soft, crimson carpet for the whole flooring. By its sides are humungous couches with white for hue, sticking itself neatly upon the walls and protruding a set of five dividers, each accompanied by the same chair. Today is one of the regulars and Lovina can be seen at the far-most corner to the right; their usual place.

Besides elaborate, old-themed lamps and a rather expensive-looking luster, the space is bombarded by pillows, a whole bunch of books and everyday life portraits. Just by the entrance is a wind chime of a moon and sun design, whispering a tiny yet comforting noise as you open the door, delivering a message from the winds themselves. There are scattered books by the third step but not too many to block out the way, just enough to give the opening 'feeling' for the place. By the stairs' sides are wooden walls supporting the Bistro, overflowing by sceptically placed pictures of everyday customers, their wide smiles, unconscious beings and grins making you feel like a secret is being kept from you. But it's not a bad one; in fact, it might be the best that you could ever get in your entire life. And when you finally reach the top, satisfaction is guaranteed to come to you, surging towards your very person, urging you to come further in, be too deep until you accept this place as a part of you.

She turned her head once more for the possibility of Gilbert Beilschmidt rushing in breathless, like he always does. At the center of the room are four round glass tables, each carrying seats that can accommodate a maximum of three people and just across of those is the counter. Filled with a never-ending supply of teas, cups and the like, it's almost as if the whole place was carved out of a vintage scenery with the fact that the café barista came from a different timeline as an exception. As Lovina's eyes wandered around, Martino's caught them like a full blown Frisbee aimed right at him. He was setting out an order for a French frappe (the one with a purring cat on top as its froth) when he noticed her, looking like a damsel in distress with furrowed brows, turning her head for the umpteenth time of the day. He smirked.

"Let me guess, it was supposed to be ten, right?" He walked towards the closest table from his working spot, smiling formally as he handed the beverage to one of his patrons, a man with a loose chequered shirt and pants reading Agatha Christie. Almost everyone who comes here is an acquaintance of his, and now he only has three customers, Lovina included, so he has a bountiful amount of free time. "And the hands of the clock are now both pointing straight up north. That's a new ten o'clock." He proceeded to her table.

"Oh gosh, you're such a nerd." Lovina whined, backing her head on her chair and slumping both of her hands on her lap. "Please, make this end!"

"I can get you another Honey-Lemon tea of you like." He stopped just right across the table, polite enough to follow the rules of the 'waiter-customer' relationship thing he imaginary had on his mind. Either that or he still thinks of Lovina as the most magnificent human being that ever graced his eyesight. "I can easily add that to your lis-"

"Thanks, but I'm broke. He was supposed to treat me."

"Is it Wednesday already?"

"Yup, the dull, neutral and opposite day of the week." As she finally focused her attention to Martino, her eyes droop into a morphing one. She took the time to observe him.

Martino Florencio, a student majoring in Music and has a part time job as a Barista at a (practically) hidden, poetry café in their University. She has known him for three years now; they met at their senior year in high school at a College Preparation Camp on their last summer. They were both in the same assorted house but they never talked to each other because the room had a curtain dividing the girls' side from the boys', and there's the fact that they don't have any reason to. He was wearing black braises back then, making her think that he had a slobbery fetish on tartars because it looked like dirt from afar. Especially when he showed his teeth when he smiled, she almost threw up. But, the misunderstanding was later found out and was cleared pretty neatly and since then, she barely recognizes the lumpy kid she saw at camp.

Granted, his shaggy brunette with a light hue for a hair is still the same but now fits him like a puzzle piece, wavy fringes bouncing off the left side of his forehead. His eyes are of an almond hue, a straight tall nose and wide lips. Occasional freckles and blemishes are also an undying imperfect trait of his. His whole figure's hugged by a white, long-sleeve polo shirt that reaches just down his elbows, black flat front pants and leather shoes. In front of this all is an apron of black hues.

"You're proof that puberty evaded me good." She said.

Wiping off her table as he picked up her plate, he grinned. "Why, thank you, Your Grace."

"I hate you for it."

"Lovina," He stood up straight, "you hate everyone."

"Hmm," She closed her eyes as a tiny chiming of bells was heard in the background, "Fair point."

"And besides, one often raises a hand to praise someone else when in fact; she is the one worthy of it."

"Speak 2014."

"Well, for one, you read books." He looked at her.

"That's not really a unique trait now, is it? You read, too." Lovina said, stuffing her arms in front of her, hugging her limp backpack closer. It is clear that she likes the color of white, what for her pure sundress and bag and all.

"When it's you, it's real. And you don't even realize how beautiful you are when you do it." Martino said, his eyes never wavering from Lovina's.

Her lips slightly aghast and eyes widening slowly (but maintaining her earlier pose), she was about to ask what he meant and why did his eyes look at her with such intent, with such prowess and ingenuity, but alas! Gilbert Beilschmidt is a man with the utmost reputation of having the worst timing of all; his arrival immediately zipped her up as she looked at his dishevelled docking form.

"I sense a lot of sexual frustration around these days." Gilbert was known for having a pale white skin and a wide-set of calloused hands that compliment his broad and muscular form. His orbs are of a rare shade of red that runs deep just like blood. He has fair lips and a strong nose and was wearing a black buttoned-up polo short with gray-ish chequered pockets, a pair of black jeans and a striking white converse. With a shade of snow for hair, he is the walking monotone of the Fine Arts department. "And that was just from outside so, Martin, stop flirting with my Renata and go get me something strong. Preferably coffee and a large platter of chocolate cake, please." The arriving form tapped the barista's shoulder, bringing Martino's gaze at him.

"I haven't paid yet and it's Wednesday." Lovina said, eyeing her best friend.

"Make that two platters of chocolate cake." Gilbert moved the chair across and sat.

"And bring that Honey-Lemon tea, please."

"Alright." Martino smiled as walked back towards his working station.

Gilbert scrunched his shoulders and grinned as he turned his attention to the irate woman in front of him. "I saved you, you know."

"No, you didn't. I waited for two goddamn hours, you bastard!"

"Not that one." Furrowing his brows, the blonde placed his bag on his lap. "From him."

"What about him?" Imitating Gilbert's form, Lovina moved closer and placed her elbows on the table.

"He was making this googly and sappy expression towards you and you were-"

"Idiot."

"-just like, "hey go on, flirt with me and make your hormones explode all over the place because it's so damn obvious that you want me on your bed 'cause you're definitely head over heels for me" and whatnot." The pale one said, making little gestures in the air. "And, let me tell you, that's just fucked up and utterly super un-awesome." He smirked.

Lovina raised a brow. "I think you've just explained how songs go today." She scooted over. "Your point is?"

"He's a year young tha-"

"He repeated a year. He's practically a month older than you by age. Your point is?"

"Oh, so now you're defending him from m-"

"YOUR POINT IS?" If Lovina would count the times she had turned her eyes on people today, she'd run out of fingers by now.

"I'm the only one who's allowed to flirt with you." He smirked, looking intently at her eyes.

"Gil, that's disgusting." She turned. "I thought you're my best friend."

"I was your lover first." He pointed out, smiling broadly.

"Don't go there, albino." She said, turning her gaze at the now approaching Martino, Gilbert snickering at the background. A smile was branded on his face as he came nearer to their table. "I was young, vulnerable, and apparently a puny prey for unfathomable beasts."

"Awesome beasts."

"Ugly beasts."

"Beauty and the Beast."

"You're still a beast."

"Beauty and 'THE AWESOME BEAST'."

"And what did that help?"

Gilbert laid back on his chair and stretched his arms by his sides, taking in a confident stride. "Character. Recognition. Uniqueness. Me-ness."

"One hot, black coffee for the pale one, and a steaming Honey-Lemon Tea for the damsel." Martino's grin fell wider as he gently placed the beverages in front of them, eyeing Lovina specifically. "Your chocolate cake is on the way."

"Make it snappy, Tin-tin." Gilbert chided.

"Thank you." The brunette said, picking up her cup as she watched the waiter march away. "I don't like him romantically, Gil." She sipped.

"Well, that doesn't explain your usual presence in this place."

"I come here for poetry." She said, placing her cup down.

"But you never write one."

"You'd be surprised." Lovina eyed him. "I've got a life outside of you." She remarked.

Gently placing his coffee on his lips, Gilbert smirked. "No, you don't."

Lovina have been ill-fated too much for her own delight ever since the world made sense to her. Being in the same atmosphere as her friend is proof to that. "So," she said, "what gives? I mean, you're usually busy in this time of the year. What's so important that it requires my presence with you?"

Popping his lips as he licks it, Gilbert said, "A gift. A long-forgotten gift from me to you." He pointed and snickered.

"What?"

"It's perfect, and we're even wearing matching clothes," the simpleton said, referring to Lovina's white sundress that reached down to her thighs, black leggings that doesn't really cover the whole of her legs and a pair of red doll shoes. "It's like back when we were dating." He smirked.

"What is it with you and us dating? Are you like, hitting on me again? Fuck, Gil. I'm not interested."

"I got the tickets."

"I'm not into those mistresses and a wife getting a revenge for their supposed, one true lo-"

"It's not for a movie, Renata. And besides, who is?"

The brunette sighed. "So, what is it for?" As she asked this, her eyes trailed from her beverage to those of Gilbert's, digging in deep as he returned with an even stronger one. She waited for him to talk, but got disappointed. "Damn you! What is it for?"

"Am I being seductive?" He asked, smiling.

"No. You're being weird and creepy and being a stupid cliff-hanger that doesn't even make any sense."

"We're going to Venice, Renata." Gilbert butts in.

Her mouth went agape. "I don't get it."

"I got, like, two train tickets for us from here to Venice. I've already reserved a hotel room, with two beds, mind you, and an accommodation for a whole week-"

Furrowing her brows, she interrupted, "What are you saying?"

"Renata, I've saved up enough money. And I bought two VIP tickets for his art gala this coming weekend at Venice. Just like I promised when we were still an item." Gilbert was grinning widely.

It always fascinate him how Lovina does the most peculiar thing he had seen in his life. A resounding sight of recognition was stated loudly on her face as her eyes light up to his proclamation, glittering from all the beauty and gladness one could ever muster in his entire life. The creases on her brows ultimately disappeared.

"Are you serious? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!?" Yes, she was shouting. But, really now, can this little band of customers deny that they, too, have said too many cussing words in their existence? No. So, any argument is invalid. "GILBERT LAURENZ BEILSCHMIDT, YOU'RE NOT GOING TO SCREW ME UP ON THIS ONE."

"I'm not, wouldn't think of it. And yes, I am serious." He said. "It's about time, anyway." Reaching down to the left pocket of his jeans, he brought out two folded papers with a pale yellow hue and handed it to his still flabbergasted friend. "Here. Proof."

"Oh my fucking…" She reached for it and read, enclosing the two tickets in her hands. ". . . gosh, Gil." As if on instinct, she stood up and went to embrace her paled friend. "Fuck. I don't know what to say." She buried her nose on the nook of his neck, like what she does when he hugs her in certain circumstances. He is her best friend, after all. "Gooosh. . ."

"We can. . . kiss. . .if you. . . wa-"

"No."

"Okay."

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**This is so incomplete, oh my g- I'm so sorry about that!**

**I have the worst case of laziness. I started this at the first week of the month and I only finished it today. Hahahahahahahahahaha I'm awesome.**

**Anyway, so yeah, this is a super boring chapter considering that they only talked and talked and talked and their chocolate cake never came. But I swear, I always start my stories like that and I gradually loosen up to the climax. Gahd that sounded wrong hahahahahahahahahahaha…**

**FF Dictionary:**

**Lovina Renata Vargas – Romano's full name for this story**

**Gilbert Laurenz Beilschmidt – Prussia's full name for this story**

**Playbight – author's made up branch of a clothing line (specifically for women clothes)**

**Agatha Christie – a well-known author of murder novels (if you've watched the anime Hyouka, she'd be familiar)**

**French frappe – I'm not European so the chances of this being real are close to none (the one in the story, that is), but if it is, I'll be glad to know.**

**Martino Florencio – one of the author's OC. He won't be representing any country so his looks will be up to your imagination (given the different attributes I gave as major factors). Aaand, he better be charming in that pretty little head of yours, guys, because he will be appearing in this story a lot.**

**NOTE: I realized that I used the color black too many times in this chapter and I honestly don't know the reason. It's just pure coincidence (I think).**

**Who is this "his" and why does he have a freaking art gala that requires our main characters to travel on an almost 5-hour ride (correct me if I'm wrong because google is not really that reliable) from their sweet home of Rome to the water canals (AGAIN correct if I'm wrong because I'm not from Italy and there's this little voice inside my head that keeps contradicting me) of Venice?**

**You're a smart bunch, I know you already know who he is. BTW, I found a song called Francis by Cœur de Pirate. It's funny because the guy looks like France and it's in French and I'm enjoying it even though I don't understand a word this wonderful person is singing. Check it out if you don't already know the song. Yeah... just sharing.**

**Well, that's that. Thank you for reading! Please review! Corrections are always welcome!**

**-Radical**


	3. Chapter 2 Venice

**WARNING: SUPER TIME SKIP (for me, it did)**

**Happy reading!**

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Chapter 2; Venice

_Sunday  
September 21, 2014_

Barely making their scheduled trip and having been heaving deep breaths the moment they sat on their designated seats, Lovina and Gilbert rested their heads as they played back all that happened yesterday and earlier this morning.

Convincing Lovina's parents is not really the kind of triviality you would want to get mixed up with. As an only child, it's just plainly natural for their course to be like that; the overprotective, doting guardians. They studied Gilbert like a hawk on a prey, scanning eyes rounding up on the albino as he silently fidgets in place. They know of what he did to their daughter, their former relationship, and not to mention, his overly-obnoxious behaviour that even their neighbours find disastrous.

When he was at the foyer of their modest dwelling the other day, he would see them taking numerous amounts of glances to his being as they tried to talk Lovina off the trip, squawking things like the distance, their businesses, the dangers (she's with Gilbert, of course), and a prominent amount of pessimistic thinking. They tend to do that once in a while, like all parents do. They were as persistent as their child was, interrupting at every chance they get when they see a loophole on Lovina's pleading, sitting with their hands resting either on their knees or laps and just devouring them both with stares.

No doubt could come upon you when you think of Arrigo and Eulalia Vargas as a good pair of people. In fact, they were beyond the word; they're angelic. Lovina's father is a man with a nice built and height, tall nose, wide lips, amber eyes, and the blackest set of locks you will ever see, while her mother is a glowing, moving, red-headed figurine. She has a body that was practically carved out by the angels themselves, swaying naturally with every move she makes, a voice humming with the sweetest tune would ever hear. She has apple green eyes that twinkle up to the level of the stars, plump lips, and pink stained cheeks. Lovina treats this unfathomably; she is their priced possession, their only heir.

So when they finally gave their consent of approval (with hundreds of death glares upon Gilbert), the uncharacteristic happened as their brunette of a daughter leaped out for joy and hurried once and for all to pack her things and necessities. They will be staying for a week in Venice in line for the event (that would end at Monday the following week) and seeing that their tickets don't say otherwise. _You can't take all of Venice in one day, _Gilbert insisted.

They arrived at the Valia* train station barely fifteen minutes before their ride moves on. It was a big place, an outdoor palace with the mix of modern technology as its steps lead you into marble stones of a yellowish hue and automatic ticket slots. It took Gilbert a maximum of eight minutes to switch their pass for a Venice one, for they had made a mistake last night regarding the places attached on their tickets. It took all of Lovina to scowl at the girl behind the computer at the registrar who was eyeing Gilbert while flipping an almost invisible bundle of hair on her shoulder every now and then. The moment she handed the newly engraved magazine-like papers, Gilbert dashed for it (_"I'm the one being eye-ly smooched here!"_) and they set off, their supposed train just arriving on the tracks. They got in immediately.

As their train passed quickly upon a succession of fields and all things green, the two lounged on their seats, sometimes talking about things they couldn't care less if they wanted to, putting their headphones on for a couple of hours, Gilbert snoozing for a about a half and Lovina begrudgingly wiping off a trace of morning-glory on his chin.

"How did you get a VIP ticket?", Lovina asked when they both quieted down. "I mean, even Angelica couldn't get her hands on it because, apparently, it's super darn expensive." She asked, eyeing Gilbert. Angelica Robles's name rolled off her tongue smoothly as the woman was a prior interest of her companion. He never pursued her, though, because that's when the whole fall of him over his friend happened. Lovina cringed.

"Connections." He smirked. "My sweet, sweet auntie's in charge of the venue and the placement of practically all the paintings. Three nights ago, she phoned me up, knowing that I'm the only living person who will want to go at such an event in our family. And get this, she actually thought that you're still my girlfriend, so, she told me that she was given three VIP tickets, one for herself and two extras and invited me, with the condition that I'll be tagging you along, to go and attend the event."

"Hm. So all that 'I've saved up enough money' and bullshit is just you screwing me up?"

"No! No! See, this is why we broke up."

"What?"

"You never see me as a gentleman! I can be gentle if I want to. I've saved up enough money to cover all of our expenses in this trip." Lovina gaped. "That's right, darling." And his grin went even wider.

They went on with this for the whole trip; bickering and self-amusing with the view their seats provided. It wasn't long until their moving ground screeched gradually, signalling their stop. They got off and went to get their luggage and checked everything they have to do before leaving, with Gilbert phoning the hotel they will be staying at. Apparently, one of the perks of being a VIP in the event is a fully paid hotel reservation in a nearby five-star at the event venue. Lovina cussed at a laughing Gilbert for this, with the blonde yelping out the excuse that he picked the room.

Fifteen minutes passed with Gilbert saying that their host will be sending a _Gondola_ for them (he rented it, he paid for it) to add more romance to their supposed friendly activity, in which Lovina took the luxury rolling her eyes upon. It arrived shortly than expected, their _Gondolier _stirring their ride up to them, politely asking for a certain _Signor _Beilschmidt, Gilbert's grin surpassing the redness of his ears. As they placed themselves comfortably, packing their baggage at the rather capacious boat, they took the liberty of being a foreigner in their own country.

The great azure above was placated with patches of smokes floating about in the air, making themselves presentable as if they were stroked with immeasurable amount of concentration from one detail to another. The gentle yet astounding whisper of the breeze welcomed them, saying their subtle hellos and salutations to the couple as their stout and oddly elfin of a _Gondolier_ drenched them with sights they've been missing their entire life. Structures, with the utmost of class and elegancy, fancied their eyes, _Vaporettos_ and occasional private Gondolas bumping into their floating steed. They were surrounded by Latin; surrounded with life and urbanity, with music they, themselves, were playing inside of their heads, beating rhythmically with every flow, every sweep of their boat. Lights of any kind lingered almost permanently in everywhere as they were met with not only by anything astounding, but a whirlpool of all things bright, from the land itself to the people inhabiting it as they received some waves from shop vendors they have passed from. They greeted them back with an equally genuine smile, both of them.

Venice is wonderful, beautiful in every sense you could ever muster. Lovina could feel it; the boiling mixture of anxiety and gladness, residing ever so gracefully in the pit of her stomach, never wanting to leave. Gilbert can almost taste it; all the things they're going to do, the things they should've had ages ago finally making its way into their grasps.

Their ride becoming slower than that of its usual, they were met by a pristine building larger and wider than that of the others. It's of a metallic and golden hue, the words _VINO _boldly encrypted on a large plaque on top of the main entrance. Two men in suits blissfully accommodated them and their driver, tying off a rope tautly on their boat and on a wooden pole on the right of the planks.

They got their baggage safely tucked in and delivered by the help of a service lad, listed down all of those needed by the reception area, and headed up smoothly, albeit excitedly, towards 301 B. Grandeur greeting them in every nook their eyes land upon, the place was full of white and gold. Sometimes, an occasional sapphire, and it was a mix that they hadn't had the slightest idea that would work.

Just by the receiving lobby was a spacious welcome rug sutured in engravings of gold that rounds up a center table. It then supports a large china, with the same hue as the said building, encasing a bundle of abundant black roses. Underneath them were straight boards of wood, panelling from the entrance up to the floor they were brought upon. Across the main door was a wide-set of stairs just behind its lucrative and palatable flowers and by either side of it were two elevators whose statures compliment the hotel theme. The whole look was completed by protégés and guests buzzing up with crews and staffs, adorned by crimson and white uniforms. They were wearing gloves.

As their lift halted, the glowing numbers above them indicating their designated floor, they hurriedly walked off the placid and warmly lit corridor and almost instantly finding their room. Slashing the mechanical lock with the given card key, they slowly opened the humongous Mahogany in front of them, fearing of what to expect.

Neither of them has slept in a hotel suite before, nor did they opt to for their trip today considering that it wasn't for them to decide upon. So, it was easy to say that the reactions they held could compete for one if they had a chance to do so one day. Lovina let her eyes wandered wildly with her mouth slightly agape with Gilbert flying off to explore the room, obviously impatient for his best friend.

The first thing that they saw was marble, laying their feet gradually on it as if it couldn't support their weights and breaks off on them. It spreads up until the glass window, just behind a table and miniature vase of the one downstairs at the lobby, which overlooks the canal and plaid up buildings of Venice. There were two headboard beside the said table, leaning themselves on the walls and were encasing two spacious cabinets each. They were of a vanilla hue. The whole room was in cased by a glass door separated from the door by a step.

By their right was another step leading to their main room, holding two separate queen-sized beds with one beside an enormous window for a wall. Unlike the welcoming room, this one's flooring was of a red carpet sweeping up until the bathroom by the right, returning to a yellow marble. There was a side table by the middle, an erected lamp on it, some drawers underneath, and a vague painting of a sunset landscape placed just atop of it.

With her feet glued to where she was, Lovina heard Gilbert's muffled voice, "Shit, Renata! I'll never go out ever again." He rushed up to his bewildered friend, holding up two bottles with white liquids filling the spaces inside. "We have six different of these in the bathroom, and they have a silver dye in one! Heck, they even have a plasma TV inside!" He said, ecstatically.

"What, like, this one?" Lovina pointed at the one in front suspended on the wall in front of their cots. He nodded. "Huh. I'd wager they even have an air conditioner in there." She huffed as her eyes started darting all over the room, noting the body mirror beside the hanging telephone adhered just by the window wall. She'd better call her parents.

"Come on! I know you. Deep inside, you're screaming my name and the word awesome in one sentence!" He teased, going back to their lavatory. "You've got to admit the good stuff."

"And what part of good are you?" Lovina walked towards the phone and dialled her mom's number, seeing as it wasn't limited for the hotel lines only, whilst observing her own reflection. She mentally slapped a reminder to braid her hair for later. Wearing a beige wool coat paired with black leggings and leather boots reaching up until her knees, it was more convenient and practical that way. She was also wearing a red scarf given to her by her father for Christmas last year. "Eulalia stabbed you a million times before letting me go to this trip, and you call yourself good?"

"Call her 'mom', you ingrate!"

* * *

As rude as they could ever get, Lovina and Gilbert marched off their hotel suite the moment they rummaged their baggage unto the floor and their beds. Tying the last thin bundle of her hair up with the rest of her braid, and convincing Gilbert to change into a simple white, _v_-neck shirt and faded out jeans, they went out.

With the ring of the lift signalling the ground floor, they hurried up to the entrance and were visited with the same stunning view. With the painted canvas of moving colours still in front, their _Gondolier_ met them halfway the glass panel, opening it with a wide grin. They set off.

"D'you have anywhere in mind to go to?" Gilbert asked Lovina when they were both settled down in their _Gondola_, their _Gondolier_ swaying them slightly with every paddle.

"I still have to buy a formal dress for tomorrow", she answered, not taking her eyes off nowhere.

"And then watch that opera by the front docks and grab some _gelato", _Gilbert grinned.

Darting her eyes to her friend, Lovina cringed, "I hate that you know me so much."

They proceeded with their sightseeing, the usual infrastructures of Venice meeting them in every way of the canal. They would stop by once in a while in something peculiar that had caught either of their attention, with Lovina pointing the most and letting her heart even more from the first stop to the next. Gilbert couldn't be more amused.

* * *

_Sunday  
September 21, 2014  
11:41 pm_

Amanda Rivers is not really a relative of the Beilschmidt's; in fact, the family barely knows her. . . except for Gilbert, that is. They met each other two years before this event happened, but there were certain similarities. A specific spot on the list is that this one is connected by the force of Art from the last.

It was quicker than the breeze that the rain comes along with when it touches dry ground, but not any faster than light. The albino, who had the face of a younger version of himself now, was looking at this painting in a certain exhibition, which happens to be Amanda's first work at that state. His eyes were as intricate as ever, criticising every bit of detail his sight could hover to, every color that he catches and every little thing in between of the canvas and the multitude of acrylics applied to it. He was wearing a near-to ragged jumper of a blue hue that encloses both of his arms down to his wrists, a white shirt underneath, and a simple grey Sneakers. An arm was folded in front of him, holding down his chin slightly, and the other one was hugging it closely to his body. Not to mention, his hair was of a shocking and natural-looking palette of silver, so, naturally, the forty-year old Amanda, who has a jet black hue for her hair, was intrigued by this fellow. She was the first one to approach.

The first thing that came after her greeting of a "_brilliant enough?_", was her looking directly at the boy's eyes and being horrified enough to let out, "I am not a worthy sacrifice for Dracula." And that's where their maternal relationship started; with Gilbert being ridiculed and joked at to the point that he laughed at it himself, and her finding a younger friend that she couldn't stop imagining as her young up until now. So, she let him call her "Auntie", seeing that it'd be rude to his biological mother if he calls her mom (who thought that Amanda looks younger than her age).

The now 42-year old woman is standing inside a huge, white tent that could accommodate at least fifty people inside, and holds fifteen different pieces of painting that varies in size. There were other two outside that holds the same amount and were being properly set up by people in black shirts and smiling faces, just like she does.

"I can't believe you're still here."

She turned her back from the pristine painting in front of her, and her grin went even wider. "Neither I am to you." She let out a silent squeal, enveloping the approaching blonde. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I finished earlier than I expected and decided to come here and settle myself for the week." The man she was talking to have a crisp and elegant accent of superiority, but, Amanda could hint the tiredness as he spoke. She curled up her arm to his side and patted him.

"The things you do for a friend, huh?" She smiled.

He chuckled, "If it's my art exhibition, he'd stay in my place for a month. How long is this going to take again?"

"The last day will be on Monday of the following week. He is a famous painter, that boy is."

"Expecting a full house much?", he grinned, turning his head to her.

"Yes, of course. That's why—", she crunched up her brows and noted the bags under his eyes. "—we extended the VIP ticket for a whole week. What happened to your face?" She added, concern evident in her tone.

"Oh, don't get me started with that."

She grunted, "Fix your shit before tomorrow and I won't." Amanda folded her free arm on her back. "By the way, my nephew's coming and he's got his girlfriend with him."

"I never knew you have a nephew."

"Well, he's like you." She said and his brow rose. "We're not really related but I let him call me that. I love him like one, anyway- "

"You need a husband—"

"And besides, he is a very peculiar one."

"What, so now you're picking weird kids up by the streets?" He laughed and squeezed her arm.

"Hey! I'm not a pervert like you," she said, "I met him two years ago at Victor's exhibition and, I'm telling you, I thought I saw a walking porcelain, Ken doll. Only more human and a little like a vampire."

"What?" he asked, his grin never fading.

She squinted slightly but continued, nonetheless. "His name is Gilbert Beilschmidt. He's from Germany and has the reddest eyes and palest complexion I have ever seen. I mean, it's completely blood and white that it'll really scare you. But, after our conversation at the first day of the exhibit, he came back and that's where we got to know each other. He's a really good kid, mind you, and he's got this really amazing sense of art in his being that I'm actually quite envious of him." She chuckled slightly and removed her arm gently from his now stiff one. "It would be really nice if you get to know him, seeing that you're both passionate at that field of work."

She waited for an answer from his companion, putting aside the stiffness his body did. "Are you alright?", she asked him, peering down to see a pair of eyes widened extremely. He was suddenly sweating. "Oh my goodness, are you alright?" she repeated and shook him slightly, now more alarmed.

"W-w-what. . . What?"

"Are you sick? Do you want to go and get some med—"

"No. . . ", he smiled shakily, "No. Just. . . lost in thought. And exhausted." He chuckled, his breathing getting heavier.

"A-are you sure—"

"Yeah, yeah I'm sure. Erm. . . uh, y-you're n-nephew? Nephew, right? Gilbert, was it?"

She was now a few inches away from him due to his occasional trudging. "Yeah. .. he's coming tomorrow with his—"

"With his girlfriend," he added, "He's coming with his girlfriend, correct?", he said, voice now louder than before and a hand protruded, urging her to go on.

"Y-yeah. . .", she hesitated but saw his 'enthusiasm' for her to continue, "name's—her name is Lovina Vargas. A brunette with the same course as him. Top of the class and. . . and quite lovely, I guess.", Amanda shrugged nervously. _Good thing that the other staffs were too busy outside, wouldn't want them to see this hysteria, _she thought. But, as if on cue, the blonde's eyes widened even more and he was gaping at her, his hands shaking vigorously on place. He was struggling to keep his composure.

"I-I—", he stammered, "better g-go now, A-Amanda. . . "

"Do you know them, perhaps?"

"No!", he exclaimed nervously, "Haha! Absolutely not, never heard of them. W-well, I best be on my way now. So much. . . exhaustion—"

"Do you want me to take you to your house? You look awful."

"I can manage on. . . my own. Thank you for the offer though.", he smiled weakly and started walking towards the entrance, his slight shaking still clear.

"Are you sur—"

"Yes."

"Well, alright.", she couldn't move, it was the first time he lost his composure in front of her.

"Thank you. See you tomorrow, Amanda." He said.

"You too.", She answered, her eyes fixated at the retreating form outside the tent. The color of his person blended outside perfectly, his dark blue silhouette being eaten wholly by the night. Their night lamps were still unlit.

With concern still looming over her, she shouted, "Sleep well, Arthur!"

* * *

**I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE! SO, TO BE FAIR, MY UPDATES WILL BE MONTHLY (STARTING NOW BECAUSE I DIDN'T UPDATE LAST SEPTEMBER)!**

**I added a day, date and time guide. So, let's say that we're in their universe, it's Sunday (their trip to Venice) today and tomorrow's Monday which will be the day for the exhibit. (IF YOU FIND A PHRASE OR A SENTENCE TELLING YOU OTHERWISE, PLEASE IGNORE THAT/KINDLY POINT IT OUT TO ME. THANK YOU.)**

**Seeing that this thing had been sitting on my laptop for a while now, I decided to finally post it. Though I don't really want to because I feel that this is so incomplete, but, for the sake of updating (and seeing that chapter 1 sorta ended like this, too), here it is!**

** I Know I'm A Dreamer, I actually got moved by your review to update because it was all in caps lock and I kinda, like, heard them being yelled at me. Hahahaha! I didn't mean it as bad thing. Actually, it's a good thing because you made me finish this chapter. So, thank you, dear. ****J**

** Mizushi-Hime, Aww, thank you dear. All will be revealed later. TEEHEE**

**Amanda Rivers, the _Gondoliers, _and the others who were mentioned that are not the series or in the manga is purely mine. Though, I did not specify their looks because I want you guys to have your own images of them in your heads.**

**YIZZ, STUTTERING ARTHUR, MAH DEARS! HA!**

**Btw, if there's an error or unfinished paragraphs, phrases, or sentences, please let me know.**

**Reviews are ultimately welcome.**

**Thank you for reading,**

\- **Radical**


	4. Chapter 3 Shared Predicament

**A/N: WARNING/S: OOC.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

Chapter 3; Shared Predicament

_Monday  
__September 22, 2014  
__02:20 am_

Arthur James Kirkland is a respectable man, the very epitome of discipline, social class and higher standards of that a being should have. He carries himself regally, never letting a pebble of profound dirt wash over his dear name and image. His physique is spontaneous, graceful just by standing in front of you and absolutely tremendous, callous hands often covered by gloves with an earthly colour, clothes neat and fresh, free from any rumples. He is simply gorgeous, chiefly British - the very kingdom itself.

Emerald orbs take place as the highlight of his semblance, sparkling and undeniably stunning; it makes diamonds and oceans alike jealous. His hair is of a dirty blonde, entire frame now very announced underneath the warm light of the room as it naturally becomes a part of it.

Surrounded by wooden walls and brass flooring, Arthur leans back beside the room's huge Oak doors, crossing his arms in front of him. The scent of cigarette fills him up as he watch the brunette work, eyes flickering across the place once in a while. To his right are a multitude of glass panels overlooking the rest of Venice, grand curtains and red cloths tampering each of its sides. Beside it is another door with the same material as the entrance but not as grand, taking the place nearest to the cupboard which holds nothing but a picture stand. A photograph of a boy and a girl occupies it, he was too far to see who they actually were though. Guesses could largely suffice curiosity most of the time anyway.

The room is mostly dim, screaming the very hue of the dark brown walls and floor. The rest of it is just filled in with either unused canvases, sculptures, painting, acrylics, brushes and the like.

"You better lay off the smoke," Arthur spoke, his stature never changing, "it's being so terrible I could hardly smell the paint anymore."

"Hmm, funny." Feliciano Vargas hummed, his attention unfazed. "You came in here almost an hour ago and you're just pointing that out now." Hands occupied by a flat brush and a paint palette, he dabbed on the canvas in front of him, mixing red with violet once more. He was dabbing with too much effort, making the easel budge along with the stool he was sitting on.

"Because you only started smoking ten minutes ago." Arthur retorted, making the brunette grin, a drop of the acrylic being noticed on his pants. "You're messing up your suit, Feliciano."

"Don't worry, Arthur. I'm gonna change my outfit at six!" He beamed.

"What about sleep?"

"I don't plan to."

"Feliciano-"

"I've done this before, Arthur!" Feliiano answered abruptly, his head turning to his companion. "Even at my very first exhibit! You should've seen me," he laughed, "I was like a walking corpse with ten kilograms of eye bags!"

With eyes wide and fingers twitching, Arthur maintained his composure, scrunching down his massive brows as he looked at Feliciano. As their stares met, amber to green, obscurity overflowed as the air became denser as ever, the heftiness being more eminent.

Feliciano smiled as he turned back to his work, sighing loudly as he did. "Stop looking at me like that, England. You know it's awkward when you do."

Arthur straightened up, perking even more as his real name was called. Feliciano rarely does, after all, and when it happens, it's more personal. "So you were listening earlier."

"Haha! No, actually. Until you said 'Lovina' I. . .uhh. . ." He looked down, his whole body mimicking.

A constricted air followed, making Arthur wince as he was glued into place, never taking his eyes off the brunette in front of him. He was suddenly sweating, his hearing more sensitive as a deafening pang in the silence ensues, his breathing being shallower by the second. Being more aware of his surroundings, he sensed everything; from the beads of sweat on both of his legs, the ticking of the grand clock just outside of the room, the light of the moon being more prominent as it pours itself all over the carpet by the window, the specs of dirt floating everywhere, the sound of his own heart, the sound of his own breathing, the strands of hair on Feliciano's head, Feliciano's breathing, Feliciano's shaking hand, Feliciano's body, Feliciano's tears, Feliciano's gaping mouth. . .

Feliciano's tears, Feliciano's crying. . .

Feliciano is crying. . .

_Feliciano is crying._

This is it. It is happening again. Feliciano Vargas is being conflicted, being overthrown by his very land, his very self, his very being. Italy is being lulled by his masses into a lullaby of deep depression, waves of anxiety filling him up again. Darkness was overflowing as the night deepened itself, the moon being the only source of light in the room. The very ground of his sanity is shaking - Feliciano's rigid form is shaking. Italy is remembering, Italy is cutting itself in half. Italy is a land meant to be ruled by two representatives, it was never meant to stand alone. Italy is breaking, Feliciano is breaking.

_A panic attack._

And at once, then and there, Arthur realized; four years were never enough to forget, not from thousands. _Who was he kidding?_

With Feliciano stumbling down his stool, Arthur got out of his trance and rushed to his fellow country's side, a jolt of adrenaline pulling through his entire body. The trembling nation's knuckles were white and were hard as stone.

Four more hours until Ludwig arrives… until anyone of them arrives. _Shit  
_

* * *

_Monday  
___September 22, 2014  
___06:50 am_

Squinting as he was met by the ravenous light entering the window from his right, Gilbert abruptly turned his attention to his left, seeing a protruded being on top of the bed identical to his. Still a bit groggy from sleeping, he let out a sigh.

"Renata." He called out, his voice hoarse. He received no answer. "Did you even sleep?"

"I did." The brunette said timidly, exhaustion evident from her tone. "I did, Gil. . . I fucking did."

"Then why are you convincing yourself?" Gilbert studied Lovina carefully, now more awake than before, as he slip out of his comforter. "You were so excited last night."

She smirked, "You're making it sound like we had sex."

"I'm not," he grinned, "I swear, you're worse than me." The albino retorted, placing his hands under his head. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just. . .excited, I guess."

"And I am an absolute future president of the United States of America." Her companion chuckled slightly. "Renata, tell me what's wrong."

She turned her head towards him, emerald meeting ruby as she steadied her gaze on her friend. "I had that dream again." She whispered, seemingly afraid that the walls aren't enough to protect her voice from the outside. "You were more visible this time."

"What was I doing?"

"We were sitting together on a metal car. Everything was rocking back and forth and the bulb sticking from the top of the vehicle was barely making things clear. Your head was dangling from your body and you were not moving, you were also blindfolded, but I wasn't. But my head was aching so badly and everything was kind of blurry, I can actually hear my very breathing at that moment. And I was like in a trance, or something. I kept saying a name and I was crying for it. . ."

Gilbert took his place by the right side of her bed, the one sitting across from his own. He sat down, the comforter moving slowly as his legs made themselves comfortable by hers. Gently caressing the side of her face, he took it on his shoulders, hearing her sigh as he does, and held her hand, squeezing it lightly. Feeling the warm and yet flowing tears on his shoulder, he held Lovina protectively, an arm on her back.

"You're so unawesome when you cry. That's why I hate you when you do." He grinned.

"I can feel the support." She snorted, and silence took its place again.

"Did you sleep?" Gilbert asked again, the quiet mixing with his own voice.

"I woke up at five," she said, "I tried to watch you sleep. I tried to see if I could fall asleep just by watching your chest move. Just by watching you being filled up with air… watch you live unconsciously."

"Did it work?"

"No."

Gilbert grinned. "Why?"

"Your back was facing me." She answered, and his smile went even wider.

"You should've just waked me up."

"Yeah. Well. . .I was afraid that this was going to happen."

"You told me to do this whenever you have . . . dreams."

"You were my boyfriend back then."

Turning his head downwards, Gilbert looked at Lovina. The latter didn't budge. "What's wrong now? Me being your best friend, that is."

"Gil . . . we didn't really love each other back then, right?" she asked him, her tone unfazed. "I know that you knew that about me. You've felt me twitch more than once even if you just held my hand, even if you just stood near me. I mostly have these pathetic excuses when you set up a date for us to go out and whenever we do, you do everything; the talking, the first one to move. . . You've felt, more than once, that I never even tried, that I was never there . . . you felt that I was looking for someone else through you." Lovina paused as he felt Gilbert's body tensed up, albeit little. "And I'm just so thankful that you didn't bring that up even once. That's how I knew that we're just meant to be friends."

Sighing, the blonde's mouth was now slightly agape. "I often forget that 'each other' meant both people." Composing himself, he kissed Lovina's hair, her scent filling him up. "One of the perks of you having a bad dream is that you instantly become so honest about all of things." His grip on her tightened. "but you never answered my question."

"I didn't because there's nothing wrong now." Lovina told him, her voice louder and finer. "I'm just afraid that you'll eventually know the difference between lovers and friends the next time you love somebody. I don't want that, that's the best thing about you."

He smirked. "And what we're doing now is a thing done by friends?"

She shrugged, "We could make this an exception." And she shrunk back to his shoulder, Gilbert feeling the weight of exhaustion upon him as she pushed further. He shook her.

"Alright, alright. Renata, look at me." Cupping her face in his hands, Gilbert steadied his eyes on hers. "Today's the day!" he said ecstatically. "We're finally going to meet him. Before this gets any deeper, remember that you're going to meet Feliciano Vargas! And the probability of you being relatives is very high because, come on, the surnames. . ." he rolled his eyes, grinning widely, with Lovina giggling a bit. "This day is going to be epic. I know you're tired and scared because of this shitty reoccurring dream of yours, but, hey, maybe his face will fix that. We never know." He smiled. "We're going to meet the very person, the reason why we're even painting. This is going to be fun!"

Lovina equalled his stare as every word flowed down on her, tugging every inch of her being that needs to wake up. A jolt, a spark finished it all off, with her saying, "Fuck yeah." She then gave Gilbert one last squeeze, thanking him repetitively, and gradually wiped off her tears.

"Come on," she nudged him "it's already fucking seven. We have to be downstairs at nine for breakfast."

"You go first. I'm gonna sleep more."

"You lazy bum," Lovina smiled, her first genuine one for the day, "I'll wake you. And don't you dare drool on my bed." She got up and grabbed a towel from the wooden cabinet by the window, marching off towards the bathroom. The moment her door shut, Gilbert laid down, his back against Lovina's former space, and sighed audibly.

"Fuck you, lacrimal shits." He muttered and went back to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Lacrimal ducts - synonym for tear ducts**

**Chapter 4 is brewing. Wait for it. :)**

**Thanks for reading! Constructive criticisms are always welcome.**

_\- **Radically Distinguished**_**  
**


	5. Chapter 4 The First

**A/N: In case you didn't notice, Chap. 3 was kind of a filler so to compensate for that, I made this earlier than needed. I WASN'T ABLE TO PROOFREAD IT PROPERLY SO PLEASE EXCUSE MY GRAMMAR/SPELLING ERRORS.**

**WARNING/S: lack of vocabulary and extreme OOC-ness for Lovina's part because I didn't really write her as a foul-mouthed person here (I have this headcanon that she only curses when she's nervous, afraid, angry, and so on and so forth)**

**I don't know if it can be considered as a type of racism or stereotyping but, I DIDN'T MEAN IT TO BE, nevertheless, my advance apologies to those who'll be offended.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

Chapter 4; The First

_09:45 am_

As soon they finally figured out how the 30-minute ride to the venue would go, Gilbert was the first one out of their hotel room, waiting for Lovina to finally be satisfied with the black flats with crystal shards bon each of its sides. The albino was going over the antique telephone design by the counter on their floor, vaguely wondering if he could at least touch it, when the door to his right nudged and creaked, revealing his friend beautifully wrapped with the dark red dress he personally picked for her. The v-line clothing wonderfully placed itself just below her collarbones, defining her long neck and short-sleeved forearms, an amber-coloured purse dangling from it. With her hair carefully placed and curled into an updo, Gilbert was at a loss for words.

They boarded the lift at Lovina's yanking on his arm. Composing himself as he straightened up his suit in that of a black hue (a white ribbon to pair with), he smiled gracefully to the lift woman who was now looking at the two of them with a rather flushed and giddy smile. He was too keen of a person to notice that not until they boarded off that she actually raised an eye to follow his back.

At the marbled and precious-looking foyer of the hotel was where they were met by Amanda Rivers. She was embroidered with pearls on top of an onyx dress that accentuated her motherly figure. It wasn't a surprise that she opted to hug Lovina first, though.

"Renata," she cooed as she scooped the well-dressed brunette into her arms.

"Amanda, it's been so long!" Lovina hugged back.

"You too, you too!" She cupped her face and directed her attention to where Gilbert was standing. "Oh my, look at how you too have grown! And Gil, oh my gosh! I can't believe that you actually look like a literate person for once!"

After all the pleasantries and greetings ended, mostly a pack of 'I-can't-believe-you-can-look-like-that' or a 'you-actually-bathed' sarcasm beamed at the blonde from Amanda, in which Gilbert took the liberty to glare at her (Lovina grinning widely by the sidelines), they finally set off. They were guided to a rather pristinely huge water taxi just by the end of the planks outside. A small space with vanilla chairs and concrete loft was situated at the center where they took up their seats and let their sights be enveloped by the gradual swaying of their ride, the slow and yet refreshing view of Italians going on with their rendezvous, the noise of their surroundings, and some occasional flaps from the motor at the edge of their service.

Fifteen minutes in their way, Gilbert spoke, "I thought you said you weren't coming to get us? Honestly, I already memorized every landmark."

"I thought so too," Amanda chuckled, "until I got this message from Feliciano himself,

said to pick up each of our invited guests. The staffs, that is."

"Is there a problem?" Lovina inquired, greatly interested, and ambiguously envious of the person in front. She has the motherfucking cellphone number of the very Feliciano Vargas, himself, for crying out loud! "A change in plans?"

"Well, he certainly added something for the VIPs. But none of us have any idea what it is, though. I guess you could consider yourself very lucky. It's the first time he actually volunteered to do something for his viewers before the exact event."

"Ah, but that's the whole point, aunty," Gilbert snickered, "he probably sensed that we're coming. I mean, gosh, I forgot that my aura of awesomeness is spreading out every inch of the day so excuse my existence."

The boat hollered as they reached the pavement, their driver tying it off to a post. With Amanda reminding him that they'll mostly be picked up at nine in the evening, they waved him off with a smile and went their way.

Colours of vibrancy splashed in front of them, encountering various attractions on the way. Briskly walking the cobbled path, the urban breeze filling them up with content and that spark of infiniteness igniting in the pit of their guts, Gilbert and Lovina feast their eyes with the very nook of Venice that they haven't gone off to yet. Being an Italian herself, with Gilbert living here as long as he could remember, they were more than used to these people with define noses and prominent jaw lines rushing off to work, to a date, to an appointment, or whatsoever - but they will never get used to that seemingly endless surprises that their beloved country keeps. There would be people in the by the side of that vintage restaurant, or that café over there, that instrument shop, the bakery by the corner. . .

The smell of wine covered with the crisp scent of baked goodies, the waft of freshly picked flowers, a beautiful _bella's _homemade delicacy, the very structures, themselves, welcomed them as they walked down the path in between of two erected buildings in every turn. Lovina would often look up, admiring how the skies perfectly compliment their pace, a tug of a smile appearing in her scowled-used to face.

With Amanda being their lead, Gilbert is absolutely free to watch the brunette. He could've made a scrapbook by now if he only had a shutter in his head.

With their umpteenth turn (they weren't really taking on counts), the middle-aged woman took them inside a warm and feel-good restaurant, heading straight towards the round table by the window in front. The place was decorated with white walls (looking as if they meant for it to look rugged), circular tables occupying the glass panel, rectangular ones in the middle, yellow luminescence and jazz music blaring at the background. Amanda treated them breakfast.

For once, Lovina actually enjoyed gulping down a glassful of marmalade.

* * *

_10:41 am_

The café was fairly close to the very venue, much to Gilbert's chagrin (he was still stuffing his third croissant). As they all stepped out merrily, Amanda brought them up into a sharp turn, revealing stone steps towards a protruding hill and just across of it was a magnificent view of the canals and _Vaporettis, _the structure of their hotel visible from where they were. The breeze gently pricking their skin, they climbed up carefully, the albino glancing now and then to Lovina to help her out.

"This isn't really the entrance. It's far too slippery to be it," Amanda said in between her redundant apologies, "but it was the closest one. We usually take this as a shortcut."

Their heads peaking up as they each took the topmost step, it finally hit the duo that they might be a little overdressed – Lovina especially. The first thing they saw was a huge blanket (but not big enough) of a creamy hue slowly swaying itself towards them as the wind carry it through. Then, they noticed that two long metal rods were pinning it down to the ground.

Sitting at the grassy field beyond it were three humungous white tents, each embroidered with fine and silky cloths, entrances wide open. At the tip of their roofs above was a long and thick line of what seems to be like a cable of some sorts, connecting them to two posts just by the end of the land. Hanging from the said cable were dozens of round lamps that were yet to be lit, encircling the whole area. The soft flow of crusty music from the piano organ, with the eventual accompaniment of the cello and violin, filled their ears as the gentle and smooth sound of jazz boomed gingerly at their enclosing. Paired with the day's unyielding soft breeze, the baby blue sky watching over and patches of clouds scarce, they realized that they might surpass their expected sensation of prickling fingers and crab pincers in their guts, seeing as they were far out from below.

With a slight tugging on Lovina's part, Amanda brought them at a free space at the middle overlooking the three tents. It was even larger at this view as they can finally see the entrances, the tents filled with occasional guests and spectators.

"I thought that this was a formal event?" Gilbert asked, his eyes still fixated on the view. "You even got musicians!" He pointed at the group playing beside the first tent.

"Well, it's a semi-formal event. Feliciano's not really in to those uptight and, as he said, 'old-looking' kind of exhibits, so, we made this year's theme kind of urban and earthy." Amanda said in between satisfied laughs. "He loved even the sketch of its idea. We're expecting a full-house even on Monday."

"I don't see any securities. I thought that there're VIPs and stuff?"

"There are VIP tickets, but that's it." Amanda shrugged, "Other than that, it's a free admission event. People pay for the VIP tickets because one of its perks is a 5-night dinner with Feliciano and the staff to this fancy restaurant and all-"

"Shit-"

"- but, like I said, this year's going to be different because Feli's planning something for you VIP guests. We just don't know what it is yet." The sweet silver-head smiled, bobbing her head slightly as she explained to Gilbert (his mouth agape).

As the albino felt a creeping hand on his, Amanda looked over at the middle tent and spoke, "But, they'll only recognize you as VIPs if one of the staff personally tells the other staffs that you are a one. So, if you will excuse me, I'm gonna go and do just that." With one last smile, she headed towards it, Gilbert and Lovina just watching her. She never said that they should wait for her, though.

Lovina gripped Gilbert's hand lightly, hesitation clear. Gilbert just smirked.

"Gil. . ." she whispered.

"I didn't know how to say this at first but I'm really glad that I came here with you, Renata." He said, sensing the brunette's eyes on him, her breathing shuddering slightly. "This is the first time that you actually initiated us to hold hands."

"I'm n-nervous." She stuttered to which Gilbert just chuckled. "I'm fucking nervous." Her grip tightened.

He turned his head to her direction. "Hug me, then. You know, to diffuse the tension from knowing that you would see your lifetime hero just minute from now. Hahahahaha. . ."

To whether or not Lovina would actually oblige to his invite, Gilbert would take the latter. He would also base it from experiences, former declines to the same request and such. So when the flustered brunette enwrapped him in a rather shaky and humble embrace, his mind wandered off to someplace else, totally blanked out if he should return it or just stand idly there while she clings to him timidly.

She broke off the air of awkwardness with a near to soft voice, "Thank you, Gil. You don't know how much this means to me."

"I-I would," his voice was trembling as he placed his hands on her waist hesitantly, "if we would just kiss, you know. T-that'd be b-beyond awes-"

"Fuck no."

"Okay."

* * *

The middle tent was branded as the first one. Not by placement or by the order, but because it encases paintings Feliciano considers to be a 'first'; his first kiss, first love, the first sensation he felt when he became a legitimate artist, and his first painting when he fell into rehabilitation (no one really knows the reason but there are rumors that he spent three years in seclusion). His other works during those hushed times were also scattered throughout the two pavilions.

Just like the outward appearance of the event, the space inside was filled with synthetic circular chandeliers above. It was fewer than that of the ones outside and was already lit with a warm light, giving it a feel of mixed sophistication and practicality. Wider than it seems, the place encases three large white blocks of wood erected strategically away from each other. Holding a maximum of three paintings (two medium sized, an impossibly large one), it kept the whole room occupied, scattered tables accompanying it. It was only the first hour so the scarcity of guests is to be expected, especially if they chose to be 'fashionably' tardy, like most of them do. People who're often early in these events are students, teachers, tourists, or people who just have a lot of free time.

"Are they still studying?" As Amanda came back to the pair, Lovina now calmer and her hand off Gilbert's, she brought them in the second tent, smile reaching up to her ears while holding the brunette by her arm. They then were met by a man in a white suit, his collar screaming the colour black as it shone brightly on his puffed up chest. Gilbert actually felt threatened. "Honestly, Amanda, you woke them up to early." The man laughed, his brown eyes more visible.

"What's wrong with being early?" Amanda asked, sarcasm flowing out from her tone, "I know for some instances that being early is a very nasty habit but that moment is not today!" She exclaimed.

"And I'm still amazed by your bluntness," he said, "so I guess they are yours, then? I'll just list them down under you." He eyed Gilbert. "Names, please." He asked politely, taking a pen and small pad from his inner pocket.

The pale teen was about to answer when Amanda cut him off, "Just write Lovina Vargas, this lovely young woman here," she nudged the brunette gently, her arm still encasing Lovina's, "and the Vampire Freeloader."

"Hey!" Gilbert whined as Amanda chuckled sweetly, Lovina grinning.

"Oh, I'm just teasing! Just write Gilbert. His surname is so German; it'll take you the whole day to spell it."

After all the bickering and salutations, the man (who was called Andrew) went off his way to the third tent, leaving the trio to explore the place themselves. Amanda led them to the first block, eyeing specifically the painting at the back (the large one) before she, too, excused herself to check with the other staffs. The pair hovered over the painting even when they were left alone.

"Tell me child, what do you see?" Gilbert asked with a smug look on his face, his voice deeper.

"Really?" Lovina barked with a whispered moan, "I mean, really, Gil?"

"Okay, okay. Just answer the question." He said.

Sitting across from them was a tattered canvas in the middle of a large rustic frame, splashes of different hues adorned on it as it was only connected by thick strands of Canvas cloth to its borders. Just by the ends of it were colours ranging from the darkest, gradually lighting up as it reached the middle, making a hazy glow from it. Yellow was stashed rigorously at the center, followed by white, and eventually led up to a purple tone – the palette of a bruise. It was then surrounded by the mixture of gray and black.

"I see a new beginning," Lovina stated with a beat in her tone.

"I see destruction." Gilbert equalled, "you go first." He turned to the brunette.

"I see the light from the middle as its main theme, its main purpose. As he was gripped and turned by everything around him, the things in between; a prevailing light survived and emerged from his very soul, his sanity squeezing through things that are constantly contradicting him. He used force as his grip tightened on its silver lining – this huge frame of the painting. As he grows further into the light, he still resides in his torn up place, still fighting and ultimately, ready to live."

"Wow," the blonde bit out, his eyes intent over Lovina's, "I feel kinda small now. I just saw anger. Well, I just saw how he ripped out those sides," his attention went back to Feliciano's painting, "do you see how unorganized and clattered it is? The threads are everywhere." He pointed.

"Maybe he was when he was making it."

Gilbert pouted, backing away slowly as he walked towards the other ones in front, his ruby orbs still on her amber ones. "Or, maybe, a combination of both of our observations. I mean, if you think about it," he started moving in a faster pace, but not any faster than walking normally, "all the paintings that we've seen from Feliciano so far is either bright, pastel, or a totally dark one. But, he never settled for something in between. So I'm guessing tha-"

"Gilbert, stop wal-"

"-Feliciano's trying to release surreal emotions here. Like-" and he never got to finish his point, bumping through something hard as he was overwhelmed by a series of clanking noises.

Looking to his behind, a mixture of humiliation and anger etched all over face, he scrunched down his brows as he looked at a man with a bright yellow blonde. He was in a dark blue tuxedo and his head was partly down and dangling, like he was asleep while walking when he collided with Gilbert. He was also bespectacled (in a rectangular shape) and was wearing a necktie with black and light cerulean stripes.

* * *

**A/N: I told you chapter 4 is already brewing. Buuut, I'm stopping here. Wahahahaha!**

**I know that I said the updates will be monthly, but when I looked over my schedule for December, I found out that I was fully packed. So, I figured that I will feel more accomplished knowing that this is on Chapter 5 already the next time that I update.**

***I Know I'm A Dreamer: In that case, here's some medicinal supplication . Hoho**

***loveforallpeaceforeveryone: Thank you for your review! I understand your point, dear. I actually used that line before this, but, I'm that kind of writer that acts out everything she writes. So, when I wrote that as my first, I didn't really feel the drama and aura that I wanted so I changed and prolonged it to something different. But I really appreciate your pointing out of my redundancy, that's one of the things that I'm really avoiding when I write, so, thank you!**

***Kintoki Kin, TheDeadOne28 and all other PRUMANO shippers out there; I can feel your powers… Hmmm.**

**Gosh, I feel so sleepy now.**

**Well, that's it for now!**

**Thanks for reading! Constructive criticisms are always welcome.**

**\- Radically Distinguished**


	6. Chapter 5 Tattered Bits

**A/N: I don't stereotype Veneziano as a weakling. I really don't. I just need to do **_**Hysterical!Veneziano**_** again for this part. Don't worry, the story's just beginning. Although, I'm not sorry for making him cuss.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

Chapter 5; Tattered Bits

"_A spectrum and myriad of colours in front of him, but he would still choose white. Slick him with all the shades invented, but he would still choose white. Lance him out with a scalpel and let the hue of crimson stain his wonderfully caramelized skin, but he would still choose white. It's like a trance, really, a hypnotized condition given to him even before he could blink. A state very alike with overdosed sedation, only, he isn't."_

* * *

_Fifth buzz, _he noted.

Clad in a tuxedo with a white hue, a dash of jet black for his tie, Ludwig Beilschmidt set his arms intertwined in front of him as he gradually took another sigh, each of his breath a harder one from the last. A dawn of hefty sensations imprinted itself upon him as a pang of deafening silence surrounded the innards of the vehicle, mixing itself with the pristine colours of the seats and steering wheel in front.

The brusque man stared off into nowhere in particular, his eyes darting from the back of the seat before him and the view outside his window, the clashing of the canal's gentle waves presenting themselves occasionally as _Vaporettos _pass their way, a few structured buildings of Italy slightly protruding from his right. Enclosed by two enormous trees just beside the place, their car was hidden in the far-off corner of the hill where the event was being held at, remarkably invisible from the guests' sight.

Ludwig turned his attention beside him, towards Feliciano Vargas, for the umpteenth time of the morning, his cerulean orbs scanning him carefully. The brunette, with his legs crossed and a book placed on his laps, was tapping his fingers in a seemingly endless and desultory manner, being it the only sound emanating in the car. It was combined with entity and form of hesitation, his nails slowly gnawing the vehicle's coated door as they hit it haphazardly, yelling out his current state. The smaller man, clothed with just a simple long-sleeved polo shirt in a dark blue shade, a khaki jumper and white and red connector to match; the slick-haired blonde observed the artist silently, his eyes evident with doubt with brows furrowed. With his hair, fixed with a simple brushed up style, whole form trembling and rigid, Ludwig couldn't help but to clutch the miniscule vial of tablets in his hand closer, his own nails digging deeper on his skin. Visible bags can also be seen from his companion's eyes, his pale complexion making it more obvious and harder for Ludwig to even believe that the Italian agreed to get out from his manor in such vanity-off look.

Being the very man whom the artist gives his priority of trusting, he brought it into himself to be the person who knows Feliciano the most, even from the brunette himself. Following a rather strict routine regularly, the very country who showed how orderliness should be done, Ludwig has memorized his partner long before the other knew himself entirely. The blonde valiantly opened up to the said man faster than he could ever imagine, faster than anyone else ever tried to befriend him. He knows how things work out in every nook in the situation, he knows how to handle a rampage even in the slightest of things. Feliciano knows how to do just that, a human who's actually trying to lead a normal existence besides knowing that otherwise is much stronger and obligatory. Ludwig knows the basic, the front of the said painter, but he knows nothing about the one underneath.

Feliciano is a contraption, Ludwig believes. A leashed debacle hidden in the most powerful barricade he ever knew.

"How was your flight?" The brunette suddenly asked, placing a hand under his chin, supporting it. An exhausted sigh escaped his lips as he continued to stare at the view outside, away from Ludwig.

"Uneventful", the blonde pursed his lips slightly, "how're you feel-"

"I'm sorry I couldn't get you personally, Arthur's made me eat breakfast", he interrupted.

"So I've been told. He also told me you haven't sleep yet. You look like a disaster, to be honest."

"They'd live with it", Feliciano smirked, "don't I always before my events?"

Ludwig timidly scrunched his brows, "I know, but this time. . . it's different. And like I said, you haven't slept yet so it was nice of him to do that."

"It's not nice poking yourself into other people's businesses."

"He did the right thing."

Feliciano turned his attention to him, scoffing. "Here I thought you hated him. Wow", he mused.

"And here I thought you don't anymore. I thought you two were friends."

"Everybody does, don't they?" Feliciano laid down his hand haphazardly on the book. "Everyone thinks that we two are friends now just because we both paint. That all those scary shits we went through in the past had miraculously disappeared from our memories. I did too, actually," he said, pointing at himself, "I thought he was a really nice guy and then he do this kind of shit-"

"Feli, stop-" Ludwig moved closer to his partner, his whole form rigid and alarmed.

"-and all those fucking conversations, all those fucking "_moments"_ with him crumbled. That jerk shouldn't have done that-"

"Feliciano, enough-"

"He should've just kept his mouth shut and not tell it to anyone, he should've fixed it himself! He shouldn't have called the others! He-"

"Enough!" The larger country held the brunette's right risk firmly, making him press himself unto the door behind him.

"-shouldn't have called you! He shouldn't have bothered you!"

"He already did, Italy! He did the right thing! And who told you you'll bother me!? You were having a panic attack, for God's sake-"

Feliciano's eyes were blurred as tears form up, "N-No! No! No! You'll think I'm weak and useless! You'll think I'm weak and useless!"

"Calm down!" The blonde wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly, their scents mixing with each other, the beating of their hearts in sync. "Calm down, Feliciano!"

"No! N-n-no! No… yo-you'll think… think I'm w-weak and… useless." He sniffed.

"I won't," Ludwig replied, his tone turning down and gentler, "I won't. I won't, Feli. I won't ever think that," he whispered, "just listen to me, listen to my breathing, my voice, anything. Listen to me and close your eyes, everything will be fine. . ." he said, feeling Feliciano's rough breaths unto his neck as his fingers draw in the cold, his whole body trembling.

"Ludwig-"

"Shh," he whispered, "shhhhh. It's alright, everything's going to be alright."

Silence enveloped the whole of them as they remained in that position, their bodies tucked in tightly around each other, Feliciano's nose at the nook of Ludwig's neck, his breathing heavy. The brunette was as callous as a stone, making the shaking of his being more obvious. Occasional whimpers and sniffs can be heard from the couple.

Then, another buzz came.

"Feli," Ludwig spoke, "Feli, I want you to listen carefully, okay? Arthur is already at the event and so is Eduard. They're taking care of the guest lists, d'you understand?" the painter nodded, albeit little, "Feliciano. . . we are going to meet them today-"

A muffled screech was then heard from the crying nation, his grip tightening unto Ludwig's white coat. Tears were continuously coming out from him, his fringe sticking to his cheeks, and his breathing becoming more shoal and clamorous. Ludwig crept a hand to Feliciano's hair and kissed his cheek.

"Feliciano. . . I'm scared, too-"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry for being selfish!"

"Shh, no, no. You're not. Calm down." The blonde furrowed his brows as he tightened his grasp even more on the now squirming Italian beneath him. "Breathe, Feli. Everything is alright. You'll. . . We'll be able to get through this." He cooed, lightly silencing the latter.

A gush of warm luminescence filled the spaces uncovered between them, thawing Feliciano's frozen form underneath Ludwig's sweating one, making sure that there is nothing to be left aside. Autumn is a rather large word for it; in which the very air itself contains you up with that definite comfort, a define chill from only the atmosphere. No, it was more alike with summer, laboured breaths and moist-scattered atmosphere.

"L-Lud—Ludwig. . .", he started, "we should get going."

"Have you calmed down?" Ludwig placed his hands on Feliciano's shoulders, his blue orbs unto the latter's bedraggled almonds.

"I-I can manage. We can't stay cooped up here forever, anyway." The brunette's lips quivered, trying his best to look at his companion's scanning diamonds. "A-and hey. . . you're there with me." His lips shook as he tried to draw in a smile, his tears welling up gradually.

"Of course I am."

It was not long before Ludwig finally let go of his hold on Feliciano, producing a vanilla neckerchief for the brunette's torrent. With the artist grabbing his right hand rigidly, the blonde wiped off the tears that kept flowing out from the brunette, fixing the now slightly creased shirt of his and his ruined bouffant. He placed the hardbound book from Feliciano's lap unto the vehicle's carpet as he dust off the remaining hysterics on his companion, making sure to do the same on himself.

With Feliciano still clutching his hand and his head lying down cosily on his seat, his eyes closed and throbbing, Ludwig pulled up his phone from his pocket and immediately scanned through Arthur's succeeding messages, a lengthy one after the other. There were eight of them.

_**Fr: ENGLAND**_

_**-  
**__I am already in the second tent; Eduard's taking on the first. Crowd's not that big yet.  
__Thank you, by the way, for responding immediately in regards with Feliciano's condition. I'm afraid I had no idea of what to do since that was the first time I've seen him like that, my mind went completely blank. I'm terribly sorry. You saved us both. How is he feeling?  
__**10:38 am  
**__**-  
**Germany, is everything alright?_  
_**10:43 am  
**__-  
__I've spotted Amanda Rivers, the woman who's bringing them up here. I'm assuming that they're already somewhere in the other tents since she's currently alone. Please tell it to Feliciano, he's fairly close with her.  
__**10:49 am  
**__-  
__She just came this way. She's talking to a staff now. They are with her.  
__**10:54 am  
**_-  
_They're in the first tent, I've just texted Eduard. Are you getting this?  
__**10:57 am  
**_-  
_Damn it, Germany! What's happening over there!?_  
_**10:58 am  
**__-  
The plan is being executed, he's already in contact with them. GET YOUR ARSES OVER HERE IF YOU WANT THIS TO HAPPEN  
__**11:00 am**_

As he toppled over at the edge of his seat, wide eyed and adrenaline-soaked, his phone vibrated again and his eyes spontaneously darted over to who the sender is. Brows furrowing and comically disappointed, he read a different name.

"L-Lutz," Feliciano chirped, his head now leveled with his body as he tensed up to Ludwig's sudden shift, "what's wrong?" he asked, noting his companion's evident conflict.

"Feli," he said, abstractedly glad that they now retain to pertaining each other with their bynames, "who else knows about Romano and Prussia's appearance?"

"No one, this is between the four of us. . . at least, that's what Arthur said_,_" he answered, scooting over to Ludwig, "Why? What's happening?" Feliciano asked.

The blonde went through the laid out message in front of him, slightly regaining composure as he stared at his screen, his hand clutching his phone tightly. With his brows still scrunched down, lips curled as his teeth sunk deep onto them, he closed his eyes as he picked the bridge of his nose with his free hand, the impending drubbing sensation in his chest unfazed even with Feliciano's comforting grip on his shoulder. He repeated the words in his head.

_**Fr: **__**SPAIN**_

_-  
Olaaa Lud! Long time no see! How r u? haha_  
_I can't wait to see u guys later at Feli's gallery. It's been a while since I've been to one so I'm really excited! Francis is cming w me btw but he'll be cming later. I came over to his house earlier and he's still asleep! Said it's the red wine from last night -.- . . . anyways, pls tell Feli thank you for the wonderful hotel he checked us into! It's really amazing! I can't contact his cell tho. I've been trying to call him aaall morning. Did he forget to bring it with him again? Ayayayay Dio, so forgetful, my little Vene! –w– hahaha hopefully Franny's already on his way so we'll be seeing u soon!  
__**11:18 am**_

"Antonio's here." Ludwig answered.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry if it's too short. I'm finding it difficult to write this chapter and what goes next… Anyway, chapter 6 is brewing so it's not going to be long. Besides, it's Christmas (and we celebrate it here so we're kind of busy), so I won't leave you guys hanging. I just really needed to update.**

**That's it for now! Happy Holidays! See you before school starts again (and that's around these weeks so don't fret)! :D**

**-Radical**


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